


Such a Simple Thing

by schatzchen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Roger Taylor (Queen), Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Codependency, F/M, Freddie is a good friend, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, a lot of drinking, a lot of froger bromance, brian is just pure, kind of, maylor comes in later lol, this is pretty heavy stuff i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-09-24 20:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schatzchen/pseuds/schatzchen
Summary: It was a simple fact of reality. Everybody within a two-mile radius was affected by Roger in more ways than he dared to count, and they showed him as much, grabbing him wherever they could reach and using him in whichever way they pleased. It was a wonderful way of life, Roger thought. It was simple, emptied his mind for a few minutes, freed him for a short while. The only thing he had to think about was the feeling, the pressure of their palms and the echo of their words ringing in his ears.In which Roger has a self-destructive way of life and Brian wants to help him escape the cycle.





	1. Tell Me What You're Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for non-graphic sexual assault

_God, look at you._

It was a simple fact of reality. Everybody within a two-mile radius was affected by him in more ways than Roger dared to count, and they showed him as much, grabbing him wherever they could reach, pushing him down onto his knees, yanking his hair and using him in whichever way they pleased. It was a wonderful way of life, Roger thought, pushing his hair back as he looked himself up and down in the bathroom mirror. It was simple, emptied his mind for a few minutes, freed him for a short while. The only thing he had to think about was the feeling, the pressure of their palms and the echo of their words ringing in his ears.

_You’re a slut._

There were no delusions involved. Roger was smarter than that. He knew none of his sexual encounters were particularly passionate or warm. The closest he got were nights of falling into bed with Freddie, exchanging soft kisses and hugs, leaving before Freddie managed to break him completely. It pricked at his fingertips, and he hissed as he laid back down in bed and slapped some sense into himself, ignoring the sting in his eyes and the ache in each and every limb. His throat was torn open from an earlier encounter with a gentleman at the pub, pushed down in one of the bathroom stalls, raw from the abuse that Roger so craved.

_Am I pretty?_

Nearing nine o’clock, Freddie knocked on the bathroom door before shouting at him that they would be leaving in five minutes. Roger looked back in the mirror, blonde hair dishevelled in just the right way, shirt unbuttoned just the right amount, eyelashes long and smile bright and sunny. He struck a pose, chin tilted upwards, eyes deliciously hooded, and told himself,

“Whore.”

Smirking at himself, he stuck his tongue out. He knew how good he looked. Everything was thought out so carefully, from the way he stood to the way he crooked his smile, the way he batted his eyelashes at anybody who happened to cross his path. He knew how many men and women would be approaching him tonight. It was new year’s eve, after all, and people who spent new year’s eve at the club were probably lonely. Easy targets. As if Roger was any better. He knew how pathetic he was for thinking about it. Their looks and their words and their hands and their mouths and it was all too much, suddenly, and Roger dared not give himself another look before he left the bathroom, meeting Freddie in the hallway.

_So pretty. So pretty with a cock in your throat. Come on, boy._

The bass pumped and Freddie was rich, just for tonight, ordering shot after shot and downing them together with Roger as the both of them gazed over the crowd of drunkards, seeing if anybody’s eyes were directed their way. Freddie had already found his target; an irishman, at least ten years older than himself, with dark hair and a gentle voice that seemed to lull Freddie into a dreamlike state. Perhaps that was just the shots.

When the irishman left for a moment, Freddie’s head fell onto Roger’s shoulder, and he giggled, a faraway look in his eyes. Roger gave him a firm kiss on the cheek, before he took both of Freddie’s hands, leading him over to a booth where they held onto each other, pointing people out, laughing at the outrageous fashion choices made by some people. 

“Hey… Hey, Fred?” Roger said between fits of giggles.

“Yes, love?”

“How many people do you think I could kiss tonight?” he slurred, focusing on keeping his eyes steady and straight, looking into Freddie’s deep, dark eyes that usually felt like they hid so many secrets. Now they were glazed over, gone, and all that was left was a playful sparkle that only intensified when he fully grasped the meaning of Roger’s words.

“You little slut!” he exclaimed. “I reckon… Ten?”

“Easy.”

“Promise me I’ll be your new year’s kiss, though, darling?”

“Of course,” Roger said, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip from the colourful drink Freddie had been so kind as to bring him, eyes raking the dance floor. There were women in tight tops, presumably straight, with men, presumably not straight, waltzing around them as if in a trance. One of them caught Roger’s eye: a man with blond hair, put in a bun, eyes twinkling in the light of the neon flashes. Looking over at Freddie, he saw raised eyebrows and a daring gaze, lips wrapped around a pink straw and the pull of a giggle at the side of his mouth. 

“Go for it,” Freddie said, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

The blond man welcomed him with open arms, pressing his chest against Roger’s back, hands firm on his hips and lips making their way down the side of his neck. With a giggle, Roger managed to untangle himself, arms around the stranger’s neck. He took in the bloodshot eyes, the opened mouth and the hands on the sides of his face that were pulling him closer, closer, and closer, until their lips met in an open-mouthed, wet kiss. Never once did their tongues meet but the man got his message across as his hands travelled to Roger’s backside, grabbing him hard. Their lips disconnected and Roger shivered as a breath of hot air his his ear, and he pulled himself closer to the man.

“Bathroom?”

Roger recoiled. “Not yet. I’ve got to find my friend.” The man looked disappointed, but Roger shot in, giving him a chaste kiss. “I’ll come find you later.”

_One._

Freddie wolf-whistled when Roger plunked back down in the booth, leaning into Freddie, laughing as their hands found each other.

“That was a sight,” Freddie said, brushing Roger’s fringe aside.

“I’m sure,” Roger said, taking his drink and chugging whatever little was left. “Where’s your irishman?”

“Off to meet some people. He’ll bring them here, I’m sure.”

“Hope his friends are hot,” Roger said, twirling the now empty glass. “Want to get another one?”

“I need a moment,” Freddie said, tipping his head back and rubbing his eyes. He looked done for, slurring his works and stumbling in his movement. “You go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

Doing as he was told, Roger went up to the bar, ordering whatever was cheapest along with a shot of vodka to cool his nerves. The club was too warm and sweaty, people everywhere around him, pressing into him and flirting with him and being too much. The cool comfort of the bottle of beer and the sharp sting of the vodka in his throat helped, settled him, calmed the thundering beat of his heart.

“Hey, handsome,” a female voice whispered in his ear, and he turned around to find a woman dressed in a white bodycon dress, earrings dangling and lips painted bright pink. She had a certain quality to her, a calm confidence that made Roger ache. Turning towards her fully and crossing his ankles, he leaned back, smirking down at her.

“Hey,” he greeted. “What’s your name?”

“Lilith,” she said, twirling a brown lock. “And you’re Roger Taylor, right?”

Roger snorted, shaking his head as he took another sip of his beer. “You know me?”

“I went to a few of your shows,” she said, before the bartender grabbed her attention, and she ordered a vodka redbull, complete with two pink straws. “I really like your music,” she said, taking a deep sip, eyes hooded from where she was looking at him.

“Is my music the only thing you like?” Roger said, eyes sharp as if attempting to bore holes into her, get her to surrender. It would not be a hard task.

“Why, yes! Do you take me for a common whore?” she said, taking a step towards him, hand reaching up to grab at the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, before a single finger trailed down his chest as deep as she could get.

“Of course not,” he said, reciprocating her actions by grabbing her waist, pulling her close and mouthing at her ear. “But there has to be a reason you’re here -” he continued, hands trailing down to grab her backside, licking a line from her ear to her neck. “- letting me do this.”

“Perhaps,” she said, voice still strong and confident. He sensed the smile on her face, the laughter bubbling up, and he thought he might just have made a fool of himself before she grabbed his hair, roughly yanking him into a deep kiss. Lilith was a good kisser, never once following him, taking the lead from the very start and forcing him into submission. He groaned when one of her hands went from his chest to cup him through his jeans, a pleased sound leaving her when she found him hardening under her touch.

“How about you give me a call?” she said, ending the kiss, leaving him panting, having to calm the rush by himself as she smiled at him. Suddenly, she seemed much taller than him, with the way she looked at him, the way her eyes were focused on her target.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Roger said, grabbing his phone and allowing her to type in her number. When she was finished, she handed it back to him, straws between her lips and an amused smirk on her face.

“Call me soon,” she said, leaving him with a final kiss, wet and breathless.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself as she watched her leave, swaying her hips as she rejoined a group of equally attractive girls by the other end of the bar. Roger would surely be giving Lilith a call.

_Two._

_Slut._

When Roger was back at the booth, they had been joined by a group of men who looked to be in their early thirties, with Freddie in the middle of it all, wrapped safely under the arm of the irishman he had spoken to earlier, laughing and smiling widely. Seeing Roger, his face lit up and he greeted him with a loud cheer, raising a drink Roger had no idea of how Freddie had gotten hold of.

“So, my dear irishmen, this is the Roger I was telling you about.”

“That’s me,” Roger smiled, sitting down in the other side of the booth, next to a man with ginger hair and a leather jacket that looked much too warm to be worn in a club. Roger flashed him a brilliant smile when he noticed the eyes he received in return as soon as he squeezed himself closer. “Your local manwhore Roger Taylor.”

“Quite insatiable, this one,” Freddie said, draping himself against Jim who laughed loudly at the statement. The man beside Roger shuffled closer, putting an arm around him and pulling him towards his body, towards the leather that smelled faintly of cigarettes.

“Insatiable, huh?” the man said. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Roger said, sipping his beer and meeting the ginger man’s gaze. “I’m easy to please.”

“Is that so?” the man said, his other hand making its way to his chin. “What’s your name?”

“Roger.”

“Nice to meet you, Roger. I’m Eric.” The hand on Roger’s chin spread out, seemed to envelop his entire jaw, big and strong. “If you’re interested -” Eric began another sentence, hand leaving Roger’s face to dig into the pocket of his jacket. “- I’ve got some of the good stuff.”

Roger’s eyes lit up, a naughty smirk across his face as he thought of it. It was not exactly meant to be that kind of night, but Roger was drunk and so was Freddie and they were surrounded by handsome men who seemed to be able to promise them anything. “Here?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, grabbing Roger’s hand, putting it on his lap with the palm open wide, ready to receive whatever it could get. His hand returned to the pocket, fishing out a small plastic bag which he opened under the table, and then a small pill was pressed into Roger’s palm. Gripping it tightly, Roger bit his lip as he looked at him for just a second. Seeming just as eager, the man leaned down, pressing a kiss onto Roger’s lips that still felt like they were stinging from the kiss he had received from Lilith.

_Three._

“Thanks,” Roger said, making quick business of popping the pill into his mouth and taking a deep swig of his beer.

“Hey, you want some?” Eric said to the other people across the table.

Catching Roger’s eyes, Freddie raised his eyebrows, and Roger winked in return, nodding. The permanent smile that was on Freddie’s face widened, and he giggled.

“You people are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Freddie said when Eric discreetly placed a pill in his hand. “Wonderful.”

From that point, Roger felt stuck under the arm of Eric, with his piercing blue eyes that kept him seated, the arm that forced him closer until Roger was basically perched on his lap, giggling at every single joke he said. There was something about the way he bit Roger’s lip when he kissed him again, the way his fingers squeezed ever so slightly around his shoulder that had Roger quiet, sitting still, not daring to get up and get another drink.

Freddie met his eyes in the middle of a big laugh, and they shared a knowing glance. It was always like this. They found one another in the middle of chaos and they had stayed that way, always clinging onto one another in the despair and the loss of innocence they had both experienced since their first encounter. The darkness deep in Freddie’s eyes had him mesmerized, spellbound, unable to break the eye contact, even if he had wanted to. Freddie leaned forward, across the table, and Roger did the same. 

“Do you feel anything yet?” Freddie said, and Roger searched his body for any signs. There was the comfortable thumping of his own heartbeat, enforced by the bass, the giddiness that came with being drunk and free, but no more.

“No, not yet. Do you?”

“Yeah, it just snuck up on me,” Freddie said, barely composing himself enough to not let out another bout of laughter. “Fuck, it’s really good.”

As soon as the words left Freddie’s mouth, a tingling sensation in Roger’s body spread from his heart into his fingertips, and accompanying it was a wide smile on his face, mimicking the one Freddie was adorning. They laughed together, before Freddie reached up to tangle a hand in Roger’s hair, kissing his cheek, before going back to looking into his eyes.

“God, Rog, you’re gorgeous,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Roger said, but continued to smile as he sat back down, back in Eric’s arms. The sensation was rapidly creeping up on him and the neon lights dancing on the ceiling caught his attention. The scene of people dancing looked tempting. The heat in the club was orgasmic. Eric’s breath on his ear made him moan, and he brought him into a deep kiss.

“You and him,” Eric whispered, cocking his head towards Freddie. “Are you two together or something?”

“No,” Roger said. “But sort of.”

“I see,” he said. “Would you want to come back to mine later?”

Looking over at Freddie to see him deep in conversation with the two other men at the table, Roger nodded. “Maybe.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, his eyes never once leaving Roger’s face, studying him as if he wanted to memorize every part of him. “I want to see if you really are easy to please.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Bathroom?”

This time around, the question sent a rush through Roger. Nodding, he held onto Eric as they stood up from the booth. Only then did the alcohol truly hit, and he stumbled, steadied by Eric’s arms around him and the knowledge that Freddie was watching him from his seat.

_Look at me. Good. Now open wide._

Eric had him pinned against the stall door, arms behind his back, lips on his neck and a knee between his thighs, roughly kneading into the denim and furthering the rush that had been building in every vein, every crevice of his bloodstream. He yanked his hands, trying to break free because all he wanted was to touch, but Eric’s grip around his wrists was rough and Roger was absolutely livid, pupils blown wide from more than just the situation they were in. 

He loved it. He lived for it. 

There was a hand in his jeans, digging into his skin before it reached his cock and he was jerked off quickly, roughly, until he was just by the edge, only needing a small push, but it stopped before it could even begin.

“You want to suck me off?”

Roger whined. “Yeah.”

“Down.”

Like a dog, Roger obeyed the command, back pressed against the door of the stall and shaky fingers fumbling with Eric’s belt. One of Eric’s hands was on the back of his head, roughly pushing him forward as soon as his cock was free from his sinfully tight trousers. It was large, long and thick, and Roger’s eyes watered at the sight, hating himself for how excited the thought of it being buried deep in his throat made him. There was no time to waste and Roger got to work without a second thought.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

With a hand on his own cock, he worked himself up and down, back and forth until Eric had had enough of him and jerked forward, Roger’s head hitting the stall door behind him. His eyes were tearing up and he was gagging, but his cock was harder than ever and it only took a few pumps before he came in his hand, stuttering against Eric’s cock.

“Swallow.”

That was the only warning Roger got before there was semen in his throat, and he gagged before he could swallow, coughing for several long seconds before he could lift his eyes to see Eric, putting both arms around him and heaving him up from the floor, pressing his lips against Roger’s numb ones.

“You’re good at that.”

Roger had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I’ve been told.”

_Slut slut slut slut slut._

Without looking in the mirror before he left, Roger stumbled back to the booth, only to find it empty. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turned around, expecting to see Eric there, but he was all alone for the moment, lonely in a sea of drunk people. They would be back soon, he reasoned, feeling a smile creeping back onto his face, pricking at his skin. He simply had to stretch his legs, skipping over to the bar to get himself another drink.

“Vodka redbull,” he said, thinking back to Lilith and the way her tongue had tasted. The mere memory caused him to smile, and he looked over the sea of people once he had gotten his drink, shimmying into the crowd, searching for anybody who could entertain him for now. It was not a difficult task, immediately finding his way to a group of men around his own age, two of them shirtless, welcoming him with cheers as he offered one of them a sip of his drink. He danced with them for however long, grinding against one in particular; a man with dark hair and a thick beard, eyes equally as dark, almost reminding him of Freddie.

Their kiss was sloppy but Roger was far too gone to care for such things. He spilled half of his drink wrapping his arms around the man’s bare torso, trailing one hand over the exposed abs before he grabbed his arse, kneading it hard and moaning into his mouth. The man kissed him again, seeming equally as gone as Roger was, and they smiled into each other before the smiles disappeared and were replaced by hushed moans and drawn out whines on Roger’s part.

_Four._

“Want some?” the man said, a tiny bottle in his hand, thumb covering the top. Roger recognized the distinctive, chemical smell immediately from Freddie’s and his many outings at various gay clubs. He nodded, covering one of his nostrils when the man raised it to his nose, pressing it up close. Roger took a sharp sniff.

The rush was indescribable. It went straight to his head, every single part of his body heating up and his cheeks turning red, pupils growing impossibly bigger and hands shaking as he steadied himself on the man. A strange laugh bubbled up and he could not hold it back, clinging onto the stranger, needing some sort of closeness, comfort; and he got it. The man held him tightly, mouthing at his neck before beginning to suck a mark right above his collarbone, right where absolutely anybody would be able to see it. 

“S’almost midnight,” he said, and Roger pulled away at that.

“What?”

“Eleven fifty,” the man said, keeping his firm grip around Roger.

“Oh, fuck,” Roger said, stepping away from the man. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to find my friend.”

He was frantic, walking around the entire club with his heart in his throat. He checked the bathrooms, the booths, the dance floor and the bar, but Freddie was nowhere to be seen, seemingly having disappeared from the club. That was, until Roger spotted a familiar head of ginger hair at the bar, chatting up a young man, eyes drunk and floating.

“Eric!” Roger said. “Have you seen Freddie?”

“He’s with Jim,” Eric said. “I think they left.”

Something dropped in Roger’s stomach, and his mouth ran dry. “Freddie wouldn’t just leave me.”

“Why don’t you join me and -”

“David,” the young, young man said.

“David’s also coming back to mine,” Eric said, as if Roger had remembered that he had sort-of agreed to go back to Eric’s place afterwards. Roger simply looked, unable to say anything. He was torn between being worried for Freddie and feeling betrayed, but all it accumulated to was a confused mess of emotions that contradicted what he was supposed to be feeling. In the very bottom of his being, he felt good, the rush that had come before still just as strong - if not stronger. “Hey, don’t worry, sweet thing.”

“Alright,” Roger said, shrugging off his emotions. Only then did he look David up and down, taking in the young man’s physique, the thin legs and the soft cheeks, the shiny hair and the sweet smile. “You’re cute.”

“You too,” David said, smile widening.

“It seems my new year’s kiss has left me,” Roger sighed. 

“Then you’ll need someone new.”

“Yeah.”

The countdown began, and Roger’s mind was far away from Freddie. His eyes were trained on David’s soft lips, and they were connected before the countdown had reached zero. It tasted of alcohol and chemicals, the faint smell stuck in Roger’s nostril and he wanted to succumb to the sensations all around him as the clock struck twelve and the new year began, but he was ripped from it, taken by people who were laughing and smiling into a taxi.

_Five._

From that point on, the night was a blur. He vaguely remembered arriving at Eric’s flat with a few other people. The number soon increased. Ten, fifteen. Roger revelled in the attention he got from all of them, flirting and trying his best to look pretty, even though his every limb was heavy and his brain was foggy. Everything was blurry and he had to squint to even see the faces that came closer and closer until they were so near he could feel the breath on his cheek and the smell of tobacco. 

_Six? Seven?_

Somewhere along the way, Roger had stripped out of the shirt, gently swaying to the music with his top off, smiling when he got cheers in return. The entirety of his body was soft and loose, pliant in a way that he knew would bode well for the rest of the men present. They ushered him over and he obeyed, sinking into them, letting them feel him up, letting them kiss his lips until he felt numb all over and his jeans felt uncomfortable, too tight, not free enough. Being passed along, he lost his jeans, sat on the floor between two men who towered above him, looking down on him, smirking when he instinctively opened his mouth to let their thumbs press down on his tongue.

“What a little slut. So hungry for cock.”

Roger moaned at the words because he knew they were so _right_. He needed to hear them. He craved them. He needed to be put into place, down on the ground where he belonged, never be allowed for one second to think he was more than this.

With one hand on his own cock, they took turns, coming to stand in front of him, grabbing his hair, whispering filthy words in his ears and grinning when he moaned. The sensation was unbearable, too much, and Roger wished to stay init forever. He was gone, his mind only focused on moving his tongue, opening his mouth wide, jerking himself off and listening to what the people around him were saying. It was such a simple thing to do, so easy, and came so naturally Roger thought this was what he might have been born to do.

_Eight._

_Nine._

_Ten._

After that, Roger lost count. His throat was raw in the way he so loved, ached for, and his body was hot, hotter when one of the men pulled him up to press a bottle of that familiar, chemical smell to his nose, pressing his nostril close with his other hand. It rushed straight to his brain and for a moment, the fog cleared, and Roger saw himself kneeling in bed, naked, surrounded by men with rough hands and hungry eyes.

The clarity was short lived, instead replaced by a deep darkness that forced his eyes shut, and he could not keep himself up, lying face down in bed, rutting against the covers in a desperate attempt to get himself to move in any sort of way. Yet, he could not get up, only listen to whatever was happening around him, feel somebody lift his head up by his hair. He opened his eyes but the face in front of him was blurry.

That was, until rough hands were lifting his hips up to get him into position.

“I want his arse,” somebody said.

Roger groaned, a strained sound, barely audible even to himself.

“He’s out, mate,” another person said. “Let him be.”

Roger groaned again. Please don’t let me be. Please don’t leave me alone here.

“He’s awake,” the first voice came back, and he felt a hand on his back, pressing him down further into the bed.

_How about you stop crying. It’ll be over faster that way._

A sharp ringing from his cellphone is what woke Roger up the next morning. His eyes shot open and he scrambled to get out of the strange bed he was in, out of the bedroom he did not recognize and far away from the various men littered in the living room. It took him a good minute to find his jeans and shirt, and by then the ringing had stopped. He would check who called soon enough. For the moment, the only thing he had on his mind was to get out, get as far away as possible, and forget the few memories he had from the previous night.

As he stepped out of the flat and into the cold January air, he was struck, something in his chest acting up. It ached, and he winced, keeping the burn in his eyes at bay as he trudged through the wet snow covering the streets, fishing out his phone from his pocket.

Six missed calls.

Eleven messages.

**11:39PM** loml<3: _where the hell are you????_  
**11:43PM** loml<3: _i cant fkn find you_  
**11:47PM** loml<3: _im outside, pls come_  
**00:01AM** loml<3: _wish you were with me_

The wind hit Roger hard as he kept walking, hugging his coat closer around himself.

**01:23AM** loml<3: _jims coming home with me_  
**01:23AM** loml<3: _just fyi lol_  
**01:40AM** loml<3: _youre not at home and im getting really worried, please pick up_

Lighting a cigarette, Roger sighed, trying to ignore how hoarse and rough his throat felt, the sting of knowing he had made Freddie worry growing and blossoming in his chest.

**02:10AM** loml<3: _jim said you were with eric_  
**02:10AM** loml<3: _i hope he was worth giving up your new years kiss for_  
**10:31AM** loml<3: _call meeee_  
**10:35AM** loml<3: _im really worried_

With the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, Roger called Freddie, pressing the phone to his ear as he sucked in a deep hit. It made his brain swim and his eyes fluttered, as the phone dialled. Within a few seconds, Freddie picked up, shrill voice yelling at him over the phone.

“God, you scared me to death!”

“I’m fine,” Roger said, voice rougher than expected. “Just forgot to check my phone.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I looked around for you after I’d gotten back from the loo. Couldn’t find you anywhere so I stuck with Eric.”

“Oh, darling. I was outside the entire time!” Freddie sighed. “Did you at least have a good night?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Well, that’s good then.” There was a pause, tense and silent in the way that only some silences could be. “When will you be home?”

“Twenty minutes, max.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then, darling.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Walking down the street to their Kensington flat, Roger tried his very hardest to not let his mind wander to the previous night. It had felt alright at the time, and it was low how weak he felt even letting a single thought slip that it might not feel as good in the morning. His throat ached, as did his back, as though he might be an old man rather than a vital twenty-two year old. He was on the cusp of manhood and yet it felt as if he had aged years and years.

_That’s pathetic._

The mirror stared him down, dared him to make a move. What is it going to be? Are you going to punch me? Take me down? There was no worse feeling than not recognizing himself, Roger thought, staring himself up and down much like he had the night before. As if he had not been through this routine before. Feel good, go out, get home, feel bad. It was an eternal cycle and there was no way to break it, but what scared him was that even if there was a way to break it, he might not want to. 

It was safe. He knew this cycle well. He knew where it started and where it ended, where it all came together and where it would eventually break apart. His eyes were sunken in, tired and bloodshot. Pupils still blown, he stared into them and the deep blackness that seemed to radiate out into the cold bathroom. He looked awful. Used. It was wonderful. It was what he deserved.

_You’re a slut._

Forcing a too wide smile, he kept eye contact with himself. With that smile on his face, he looked almost like a clown, he thought.

_Whatever. You’ll get over it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey dudes im back with another longish, heavy ass fic! hope u like. maylor is just around the corner.  
come talk to me me on ig @larryxlurex loves <3


	2. I Can Take the Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you didnt already guess, this fic is inspired by the song "such a simple thing" by ray lamontagne.  
tw for bdd tendencies

January was always cold, but this one was incomparable to any previous one. The cold bit into Roger’s cheeks and made his entire face stiffen as he hacked his teeth, trainers soaked and hair dishevelled from the wind. His shift at work had been absolutely terrible. Customers had been rude, his boss had given him a lecture for being late and worst of all, he looked like absolute shit. His lips were chapped and dry, his skin felt grimy despite the shower he had taken in the morning (which is what had made him late in the first place), and his hair was full of tangles and split ends. 

He really had to get it cut soon. Short, perhaps. It would make him look more of his time rather than whatever seventies rockstar he was trying, pathetically, to emulate. Then again, he would never think that way of Freddie, who dressed in bell bottoms and kept his hair shoulder length, and for a moment he was hit with a wave of guilt. 

_You’re a manipulative person, Roger._

Freddie got them Chinese for dinner, which they ate together in front of the television, wrapped up in each other and giggling at whatever the people on Antiques Road Trip were presenting, Freddie pointing out the various items he had gathered over time in their flat, exclaiming that they must surely be worth much more. Roger snorted, knowing most of it was all fake, but snuggled closer to Freddie, seeking the little warmth he could find. Taking the hint, Freddie put his arm around Roger, pulling him close to let him rest on his chest.

While cooing, Freddie pet his hair, stroking away his fringe and looking down at him with nothing but pure affection oozing out of every syllable he spoke. 

“Something wrong, love?”

“Just a bad day at work.”

Freddie hummed, now putting his other arm around Roger and pulling him until his face was nestled in the crook of Freddie’s neck. Breathing in the scent that smelled like home, the sting and the guilt he had felt earlier calmed down. All that was left was the silence between them, Freddie’s fingers in his hair and his soft breath on the top of his head. It took everything in Roger not to fall asleep right then, curled into the one person he felt he could open up for wholly. 

_You’re sick._

It had been a great injustice, Freddie had said, legs spread out over the sofa and shirt open, a great injustice that he did not get to be Roger’s new year’s kiss, and he had made sure to make Roger pay for it. Ever so often, Freddie would sneak a kiss. When Roger was doing the dishes, hands soaked and unable to protest, Freddie would plant a firm kiss on his lips before leaving in a fit of giggles at the way Roger reacted. When Roger had just gotten out of the shower, still soaking wet and soft from the way he had scrubbed until his skin was raw, Freddie would grab his face and give him a peck before ruffling his still wet hair, telling him just how gorgeous he thought he was. There were slow goodnight kisses shared in the living room, feeling too real and too close for comfort, but Roger found he could not ask him to stop. 

_God, Rog, you’re gorgeous._

Freddie always used that word to describe him. _Gorgeous_. Not handsome, like he described the men he chose to be with. Jim was handsome to Freddie. Masculine and rugged, tall and dark, mysterious in some way. Selfishly, Roger wished Freddie would think that way of him as well, but he was left with gorgeous. At the same time, it was special. Nobody else was gorgeous to Freddie, except a young David Bowie who Freddie had praised to the skies.

_He’s gorgeous. Not in like, an attractive way, but he’s just gorgeous, you know?_

Ever since they had met, they had been affectionate with one another. It was simply part of their relationship, the way they built each other up. There was nothing quite like ending a stressful day in Freddie’s arms, lips ghosting over Freddie’s collarbone and clinging onto him as if he were his last lifeline. Roger was sure that no matter what man or woman he ended up with, they could never compare to Freddie. His Freddie. The love of his life.

They had, to some degree, tried to be more than friends. Lazy makeout sessions after a night out or morning cuddles that turned into rutting, but that was always as far as they ever got, both ending up giggling about something, or more commonly; being thrown off by the fact that it was suddenly, all at once, all too serious. 

Serious with Freddie was never an option. Roger was always loose and happy and free, and whenever he got a bit too close to Freddie, it stung. Freddie was a romantic, a daydreamer, with visions of a knight in shining armor who would save him from his own despair. Roger could never be that, barely strong enough to look after himself most days. He could never give Freddie what he deserved.

It had been long since Roger last entertained the idea of there being something more than friendship between them. Still, when Freddie stole countless, platonic kisses from him, Roger could not help but feel homesick. 

_You always end up hurting people._

“What do you think?” Freddie said, twirling in front of where Roger was sat on his bed, still picking out what he was to wear for their first night out since new year’s eve.

It was not unlike them to go on for days, partying every night and never seeming to stay sober for more than a few hours at a time. A rumbling at the pit of Roger’s stomach reminded him that perhaps, it was not a healthy habit, but Freddie was just as fucked as Roger himself. They were a deadly combination in a certain sense, to each other and to the people around them.

Now, however, Roger was tired. New year’s eve had left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It had not felt like the biggest problem at the time, but when the reality of the entire situation set in the following morning, he had to clench his eyes shut and fall deeper into Freddie’s arms, never explaining exactly what had happened but somehow getting exactly what he needed. The truth was that Roger himself did not really know what had happened that evening. 

“You look fuckable as hell,” Roger said, watching Freddie looking himself over in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of his skin tight trousers. 

“Why don’t you come over and fuck me then, darling?”

“Don’t you have Jim to do that?” Roger said, absent-mindedly scrolling through his Instagram feed and only looking up when Freddie groaned in response.

“He says he wants to take things slow, now,” Freddie said, wrapping a scarf around his neck. “That’s not what he said on new year’s eve, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Spare me the details.”

_It’s like you want to be an arsehole._

The man who looked back at him in the mirror was absolutely gorgeous. Blond hair in messy tresses that fell down past his shoulders, a shirt cropped just above the waistband of his jeans, exposing the smallest sliver of skin. Freddie told him as much, with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on his arse. Grinning widely, Roger returned the favour, and they took turns complimenting each other on the way to the closest gay bar.

It should probably have bothered him how easily they fell into routine. Nighttime Freddie kept his dreamy gaze but there was something underlying, a sort of hunt in his eyes that kept Roger on his toes, eager to keep up. Not that he had any problem with that. It spurred him on, and he did not even flinch when Freddie offered him another shot of tequila by the bar, all the while flirting with the bartender.

“I’ve got some leather polish.”

They were underground, in the basement of the bar, adjacent to a small dance floor where people were more likely just the tiniest bit more sober than they had been at the club Roger and Freddie had been to on new year’s eve. High-brow as it was, it seemed those tiny bottles of chemicals were bound to be pressed against Roger’s nostril wherever he went. It was forbidden, but it was not yet on the level of some harder things, and the rush stayed for longer this time.

“That’s some good shit,” Roger said, wiping his nose where some residue of the liquid had stayed. “Bloody hell.”

There was the need to steady himself against the wall, his face heating up, cheeks turning pink and pupils widening in the slightest. He felt the bass track of the song in his chest, felt his body relax and the blood flow increase to every part of his body.

Without warning, he was struck. The routine was sickening, and when he looked over to see Freddie, his Freddie, taking a hit from the small bottle, nostril blocked with his middle finger, all the air left his lungs. All that was left was the burn in his throat, the chemical smell stuck in his nose and the desperate need for air. 

“I’m going upstairs for a while.”

“Wait for me!”

_Nobody would stay with you when you’re like this._

The bar upstairs was a bit emptier but finding a seat was near impossible. Roger chose to stay by the bar, sitting on a barstool and drinking his beer slowly, savouring every bit of cold liquid he could get. They had just started charging for water at this place. As if they wanted people to pass out. Roger snorted when he was told, and ordered a beer instead. If he were to pay, it would have to be for something that got him buzzed. As if he needed to get more buzzed.

A man stood beside him, and Roger barely turned to look, instead staring down at his phone where Freddie had not yet replied to his text telling him that he was upstairs by the bar.

“A beer, please,” the man next to him said, and only then did Roger turn his head to look. Quite unassuming, really. Dressed in a nice dress shirt and black jeans that hugged his long, long legs. Quite unassuming, really, if one disregarded the messy, dark curls on his head.

“Is that a perm?” Roger asked the man, who looked back at him, seeming quite shocked that he was being spoken to more than anything.

“My hair?” 

“Yes, of course, your hair,” Roger said, sipping his beer as he took a better look at the man. Long, sharp nose, sweet eyes, milky skin that would surely look nice with some bruises on it. The man got the beer he had ordered, and his fingers wrapped around it. Long, long, fingers to match his long, long legs.

“No, I was born like this,” the man said, smiling as he grabbed a lock.

“That’s not very anglo-saxon of you.”

“Oh, as if bleached blond is anglo-saxon.”

“What is it then?”

“American, innit?”

“Americans aren’t blond. There’s a bunch of hair colours there.”

“Yeah, but Americans are the ones who bleach their hair.”

“As if the English don’t do it. I am living proof.”

“It suits you. Brings out your eyes.”

“Thanks. I like your curls.”

They took a moment to look at each other, both smiling slightly as if being coy would bring the night further. They knew what it meant to be chatting somebody up in a gay bar where everybody was desperate to get off. Then again, this man was dressed so nicely and spoke so eloquently and had such a calm, calm voice. There was bite to it, however, and thus, Roger was rendered speechless for a while, coy smile playing on his lips.

“I’m Brian,” the man said, breaking the silence.

“Roger.”

“I recognize you from somewhere, Roger,” Brian said, swallowing a deep gulp of beer that made his adam’s apple bob. 

“I play at pubs sometimes,” Roger said, looking around the bar. House music filled the rooms, the tune something Freddie could picked out from a mile away, but Roger was out of his comfort zone when it came to music. While Freddie had taken his time educating himself on everything from forties jazz to nineties grunge, Roger had chosen to stick to what he knew. What fit his image. “Quite a different scene from this one.”

“I can imagine,” Brian said. An awkward silence settled between them as they smiled at each other. The first one to break was, again, Brian. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my friends. It was nice to meet you, Roger.”

“Hey.” Just as Brian took the first step to walk off, Roger grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, mouth against Brian’s ear. “Come find me later, yeah?”

“I’ll try.” Roger was not about to leave him high and dry, and pulled Brian in for a chaste kiss. “Forward, are you?”

_Slut._

“One of my best qualities.”

The mood escalated once Brian had left him by himself. Freddie joined him soon after, pulling him away from the bar and sitting them down next to a group of girls who looked far from heterosexual. There was no thrill to it, Roger found, knee bouncing impatiently as Freddie complained about the way Jim had spoken to him as if he were a child needing supervision. It was not far off, Roger thought, looking around the bar, looking for somebody to entertain him. Restless, he urged Freddie to let him take a lap, and they did, giggling as they flirted with men around the bar. One in particular caught Roger’s attention with his colourful getup and feather boa. As if it was a special occasion of some sort.

Eventually, they ended up at the back, and a head of wild, dark curls caught Roger’s eye.

“That’s the guy I was talking to earlier,” Roger said, eyes hooded as he looked them over.

“He looks straight,” Freddie laughed. His eyes focused on the group, settled on Brian before drifting to the rest. “Hey, that’s Tim!”

Before Roger could stop him, Freddie had approached the group, happily greeting the man he apparently knew from college. Standing by the sidelines, Roger locked eyes with Brian who gave him a smile before gesturing for him to come over, sit down next to him. Ever so eager.

_When will you stop doing this to people?_

Whatever it was keeping Roger at bay, it melted the moment Brian put a big hand on his thigh, laughing along with the other people at the table. The fingers squeezed around him and if Roger did not know better, he would say it was unintentional. It was not enough to ground him, however, and his mind floated as a tray of shots was brought over to the table.

All that was on his mind was the need to get as much of it in him as possible. Brian laughed when Roger took his second shot, hand moving from his thigh to wrap around his shoulders. Smiling up at him, Roger winked, leaned into him and let the tide bring him up to meet Brian’s lips in a drunken stupor. As if Brian thought he could get drunk off of the taste of alcohol itself, he seemed to want to meet every part of him, going into him full force. If Roger was not already drunk, the sensation could have made his knees week. Big, strong hands on him, mouth on his, he surrendered. Cowering, seeking shelter, he pressed his body into Brian’s, hands somewhere by Brian’s waistband.

“Get a room,” Roger vaguely heard Tim say across the table, but he gave it no mind. Brian did not seem to care either, and simply let his fingertips wander to where the small patch of skin was exposed above Roger’s belt.

“Want to go to my place?” Roger whispered.

“Yeah,” Brian said, voice breathy and thin. “Is it far?”

“Just a ten minute walk,” Roger said, smiling as his arms wrapped around Brian’s waist, bringing him close. He leaned up to give Brian another deep kiss, pushing him close to feel every part of him. Brian seemed unwilling to allow this, however, and grabbed Roger by the back of his head, biting down on his lower lip and groaning when Roger moaned in response.

“Seriously, mate,” Tim said, louder this time. It broke Roger’s focus, and he turned to see Tim looking at them both, amused. 

Roger ignored him and leaned towards Freddie. Freddie did the same, leaning forward with his ear turned to Roger. Brushing his hair away, Roger whispered, “I think I’ll go now.”

“I’ll stay here with Tim for a bit,” Freddie whispered back, chuckling. “Have fun. And be safe.”

“Always,” Roger said. There was a certain look in Freddie’s eyes that Roger could not pinpoint, but he smiled, brushing away Roger’s fringe like he so often did. Before they said their goodbyes, Freddie leaned forward just a bit more, placing a chaste kiss on Roger’s lips, holding him close by his collar before he let Roger go completely, free to rage in all of this, stuck. Brian was eager to be part of it, it seemed, holding Roger close as they exited, showing that did not know just how poisonous Roger was.

_You just don’t do shit like that._

The music from the bar was stuck in his head as he walked back to their flat with Brian. They laughed, arms entwined, stopping to kiss once in a while, but kept a steady focus on the end goal of getting home safely, falling into bed, chasing that high they so craved. It was wet and cold but the flat was warm and welcoming with its trinkets and lingering smell of incense. Brian pressed him up against the wall as soon as their shoes were off, kissing Roger’s neck, leaving him gasping and helplessly rutting against nothing, until there was something.

“Hang on, I’ve just got to piss,” he said, interrupting another heavy makeout session against the wall. “Wait for me in my bedroom.”

“Which one?”

“Furthest down the hall.”

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he stepped into the bathroom. Doing his business was harder with a semi, he thought, giggling when he washed his hands clean. His breathing was still heavy when he thought of the man waiting for him on his bed and the pump of adrenaline did not stop until he lifted his eyes from his hands to the mirror.

The lights had been dim and low in the bar. They were deceitful. Life was all pretty when bathed in arousal and pink, dimmed lighting, making anybody look so very ethereal as they danced and sniffed and drank in its shine. The flourescent lights of the bathroom woke Roger up out of his silly daydream.

He looked absolutely fucking wrecked. Normally, he would say that was a good thing. They liked him that way, hair messy and eyes bloodshot, saliva on his cheek. This was another thing entirely. His skin was dry, flaking on his nose and between his eyebrows. He had a few pimples on his cheek, yellow and nasty, looking just about ready to pop. What twenty-two year old has pimples? He was reminded of the fact that his hair was full of split ends. He needed to have them cut off soon. Worse was when he looked down from his face. The soft bit of pudge over his waistband seemed to have swelled, the large amount of alcohol consumed making him bloated. His stomach pressed against his belt, leaving red marks where there should only be smooth skin. 

_You’re a mess._

It had all been a lie. There was no point in lying to himself at the start of the evening, and yet he had done so this time again, as if he had not been through this before. It bubbled up in his chest and he had the urge to ruin himself, prove something to himself, prove that he had been right all along. Perhaps Brian would be the one to show him. All he needed was a push, a few words here and there, a press of hands around his neck or spit on his face. 

_This is all you’re good for._

A breath hitched in Roger’s throat when he entered his bedroom. Brian was naked, spread out with an arm lazily laid above him, head tilted, and hand on his large cock, stroking himself slowly, lifting his gaze when Roger entered.

“Fuck,” Roger breathed out.

“Come, join me,” Brian said, voice coming from low in his throat, deep and dark.

Getting himself undressed did not take long, and soon he was laid on top of Brian, their naked skin meeting halfways, as if they were equals. The thought was almost laughable. Arms tangled with each other, legs wrapped together tightly, they moaned in unison, connected in only this way, the way Roger so needed once in a while. It had been more frequent recently, and he knew it was probably not the best. It could lead to things he did not want, did not need, but it was worth the risk for a moment of peace, a pass to freedom.

_He’s out, mate. Let him be._

_He’s awake._

“Top or bottom?” Brian asked through a strangled moan.

“Bottom.”

Brian fingered him slowly, carefully, drawing out every second, making it feel much longer than it was. Frustrated, Roger brought a knee to his own chest, frantically searching for Brian’s hand and putting it on the underside of his knee. Right then, Brian got the message, and held his leg up roughly as he kept fingering him, slow and sweet, adding another finger to make Roger whine. 

What Roger had expected was not what he got. Brian was hard and big and the burn was good but there was not much more. Roger jerked his hips to meet every thrust, needing to feel Brian’s hips slamming into him over and over, but all he got was the leisurely pace Brian gave him. Whining, Roger dug his nails into Brian’s back, arching up to meet him halfway. It was wet and hot but not nearly quick enough, not rough enough.

The need to be put in his place was growing more and more urgent, and with a groan, Roger scratched Brian’s back, making him hiss. Annoyance was building in him rapidly, his loins on fire and his limbs trembling with the strain.

“Come on,” he urged, and Brian groaned in return, mouthing at his neck as his thrusts never eased, nor got any rougher. “Come on!”

“What do you want?” Brian said, voice still low and husky. It was just on the verge of being enough.

“Fuck me like you mean it.”

The thrusts sped up, and it was a momentary relief until Brian insisted on pressing sweet kisses on his neck. That’s not what Roger fucking meant. He needed something else. In his desperation, he grabbed one of Brian’s hands, bringing it up until the fingers were splayed across his neck. Roger squeezed around it, and thought Brian had gotten the message until he let his hand go back to Brian’s back. Then, the hand around his neck had travelled to his hair where it was stroking it away from his face. It triggered something in Roger, a flash of a memory, an image of dark eyes that held so many secrets and an infectious laugh. It was enough to make him feel sick of himself.

“Fuck,” he moaned, high-pitched and whiny, causing him to cringe at himself, but Brian did not seem to mind. 

_God, Rog, you’re gorgeous._

They laid back down, next to one another, panting and locking eyes somewhere in the middle of it all. Come was drying on Roger’s stomach and his body was sore, loose, but not satisfied. With a groan, he managed to sit up, reaching towards his nightstand to pluck forth a cigarette which he lit, sucking in a deep drag to make his lungs sting. 

“You can stay if you’d like,” Roger said, looking over at Brian who was still coming down from the high of sex and alcohol in a lovely haze.

“That’d be nice,” he laughed. “That was good.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed half-heartedly. An orgasm always calmed him down somewhat, grounded him, but nothing could put him down quite like a session of being used like he was worth no more than the ground the other person stepped on. Brian had been far from giving him that, all sweet, slow and so infuriatingly considerate.

When Roger had put out his cigarette and laid back down, Brian was asleep. There was no sign of Freddie being back home, and in that bed, Roger was stuck in an empty space, somewhere between awake and asleep. Cars passed below, their lights shining in through the window. For a split second the room was lit up, and Roger could see his own pale skin. Every hair on his legs. The bruise on his hips, which he did not know how he acquired. The awful, bloated stomach, which from this angle looked comically large, not fitting in with his narrow hips. He wiped away the come stain with the duvet before lying down, inching closer to Brian who was breathing steadily, heavily.

If only Freddie was home, he would be alright. Then Freddie would hold him, kiss the top of his head, tell him he was gorgeous again. Now all he had was a stranger in his bed.

Cursing to himself, he turned over, his back facing Brian. Every part of him was burning, too hot in a way that made a headache form, and all that saved him was the knowledge that soon it would be morning and everything would be alright. Freddie would be home and Brian would be gone again. 

When he got closer, Brian’s arm lifted, wrapped loosely around his waist. A single, slim, long finger trailed a line from Roger’s belly button to his ribs, before it settled, fingers splayed and firm. If Roger had been just slightly less experienced, he might have surrendered to the comfort.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

_That was a sight._

When the sun was back above the horizon and Roger managed to wake himself up from a nightmare, the bed was empty. Lying on his stomach, Roger turned his head to look at the other side of the bed, arm reaching out to feel that the sheets were still warm and comfortable, smelled faintly of shampoo and home cooking. However, as his senses woke up one by one, he realised the smell of home cooking might just be coming from the kitchen. Food had been so far away from his mind the previous days, but now, hungover and starving, the smell caught him off guard and his stomach rumbled. Throwing on a cheap, fake silk robe Freddie had gotten him, he stepped over to the kitchen, sleep still in his eyes. 

He halted to a stop in the doorway when he saw a familiar head of dark curls at the table. Freddie was standing by the stove, frying something up, filling the entire kitchen with condensation. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Freddie greeted.

With a sharp gulp, Roger locked his eyes on Brian, who was in the middle of a sip of coffee, looking up with a smile at Roger. The smile quickly fell when Roger decided to break the spell and speak.

“What’re you doing here?”

Brian’s eyes widened in the slightest, mouth opening and closing as Roger sat down at the table. “Oh, I was just -”

“You should go,” Roger said. He put his head in his hands, closing his eyes to block out the sharp lights and ignore the way both Brian and Freddie were surely looking at him. He had no patience dealing with their judgment.

“O… kay?” Brian said, putting his empty cup of coffee down.

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Freddie scolded, and Roger had the audacity to feel betrayed. “You can stay however long you like, darling.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve got to meet Tim in a bit.”

Roger sighed into his hands, barely paying attention to the conversation around him. Rather than trying to act as if he was going to be the perfect host after a less than satisfactory one night stand, Roger focused in on the way his eyes throbbed in his skull, the way they moved beneath his eyelids.

“Alright then, love. Tell Tim hello from me. And tell him to text me about next Friday!”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Roger heard Brian standing up from his chair, heard the kiss Freddie gave Brian on the cheek, heard the front door closing and heard the plate being set in front of him. Only then did he remove his hands from his face to see Freddie sitting down opposite him, looking at him with nothing but disappointment.

“He didn’t deserve that,” Freddie said, shaking his head.

“He was boring in bed,” Roger said, and felt his chest swell when the disappointment in Freddie’s eyes turned to amusement.

“If you say so.”

Digging into the food in front of him, he wisely ignored the way his stomach stretched under the waistband of his robe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank you all for the lovely comments. they really spur me on... evidently... so! comment to keep me going for otherwise i shall abandon ship.  
also i wanted to say that this was originally going to be a fun lil oneshot of hoe!rog having a competition with hoe!fred of who could get the most new year's kisses. then i thought of the potential angst and boom, here we are.  
peace


	3. Three Pairs of Dark Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seem to have cured my writer's block dudes! a bit of a short chapter because i decided to split it into two parts. might make this fic longer. who knows.

Before there was Freddie, there was Dominique. Before Dominique, there was loneliness. In the loneliness, an eighteen year old Roger, finally free from the tight grip of his father’s grasp and the pressures of a small hometown, he had walked down the streets of London to simply observe. Young people with bleached hair, girls in the shortest of dresses, and men. Men with their rainbow flags, their smiles, their gay bars and their freedom that Roger had only had a taste of.

Many people, when asked about how they knew they were not completely heterosexual, answer that they somehow always knew. They were different, stood apart from the crowd. Pubertal years fuelled with lust for the same gender, shame, or even pride. While it was true that Roger’s early teenage years had been filled with lust and shame, he had never once considered the fact that he might not be straight. That was, until he wandered down dark roads at midnight, saw the people basking in their freedom, and something clicked. 

There had always been an attraction to girls, that was for sure, but when he really thought it through, he realised that he had never even considered the possibility of something else. It was natural to wonder if he had been keeping himself back, but at the same time, he was grateful that it had never gone that far. He could not even begin to imagine how his family would have reacted.

Disgust. Guilt. Shame.

_Faggot._

After the shame, after the guilt, there was Dominique. She was, in some ways, an anchor in the city that was still foreign land to Roger. When he rested his head on the pillow, many years later, next to a strange man with rough hands and a filthy mouth, the dark hair between his fingers felt like coming back home to that anchor. Soft, in juxtaposition with the thumbs that dug into Roger’s hips and the stubble that chafed his neck. Holding onto the last bit of the anchor that was slipping from his grasp, he laughed to the bewilderment of the strange man.

Perhaps he should call Dominique soon.

_Honestly, Roger, I just don’t see how this could work._

For a while, Roger’s relationship with Dominique had been fantastic. Great conversation, great banter, great sex. Just great. Fantastic. 

But after Dominique, there was Freddie.

_You’re blind if you can’t see that._

After the man had left, Roger dropped on the sofa, limbs loose and heavy. Mind somewhere else, he barely noticed Freddie entering their tiny flat, sprinting over to the living room where he stood, glaring at Roger with his hands on his hips.

“Roger!”

Tearing his eyes away from the black television screen, Roger looked up and smiled when he saw the inscrutable look on Freddie’s face. “What?”

“Who was the man I just ran into at our front door?”

“Oh,” Roger said, leaning back with is hands locked behind his head. “Just some bloke from tinder. Good shag.”

“I swear to God, if you used my bed -”

“Why the hell would I use your bed?”

“Who knows what you get up to when I’m not around?” Freddie came to sit down next to Roger, turning on the television in the process. “You ate all the fucking bread last night.”

_Oh._ “I was hungry.”

“Clearly. Did you smoke or something?”

His face was heating up, suffocating him in its heat and reminding him of the bruising on his hips. “No, I was hungry. Am I not allowed to be hungry?”

Freddie snickered, leaning over to pat Roger’s head before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re adorable.”

_I could never be enough for you, Rog. I’m sorry._

When the post-coital nostalgia had faded, contacting Dominique felt far too intrusive. Almost mean. Sometimes, there came a flash, a reminder of the anchor she had once been. Whenever he saw somebody with that same dark hair, those kind eyes. He saw them everywhere. Yet, they had changed in nature, and where he had previously been reminded of a woman with soft words and a calm nature, he saw sparkling eyes, wide smiles, nails painted black on one hand and a fiery way. 

Whyever he was reminded of Lilith when he glanced over at Freddie, he did not understand, but with him on his mind, he typed out a quick message and sent it without too much care.

**05:08PM** _hey, it’s roger from new years eve. wanna meet up yet? ;)_

The reply came almost instantaneously.

**05:10PM** lilith: _ahh, i remember you_

What a compliment.

**05:10PM** lilith: _yeah, what do you have in mind?_

He had a few things in mind, but from what little he had gathered, she seemed to be the sort of person who wanted to be in control. Letting her take the lead was the way to go.

**05:11PM** _how about a beer_  
**05:11PM** _see where it goes_

**05:12PM** lilith: _what, tonight?_

Roger looked over at Freddie, who was smiling down at his phone, fingers moving faster than when they danced over piano keys. Freddie would be fine on his own tonight.

**05:12PM** _yeah, tonight_

After Dominique, there was Freddie, who made him feel like he might just have been denying himself everything good in the world. Freddie was sweet, generous, spending money that he did not have on fur coats he did not need. Champagne, cigarette holders and an apartment in Kensington with an extra room that he used as storage for the antique clothes he claimed he had inherited from his grandmother.

Roger would later find out that his grandmother did not even live in the country, and Freddie had only come to London at the same age as Roger, only three years earlier. 

With Roger’s help, he had set up a stall where the clothes were sold for much more than they were worth. Never once did Roger tell Dominique where he had actually met Freddie, and it was for the best, because when she eventually found out, she only looked at him with pity in her eyes and an awkward smile.

_I can see that he makes you happy._

Only when a month had passed since their breakup did Roger understand what she had inferred from his and Freddie’s living situation, their partying habits and their public displays of affection. Only when two months had passed since their breakup did Roger confess to Freddie that he thought he might not be completely straight. With a laugh, Freddie had doubled over, teeth on full display and love in his eyes. 

_Darling, I know._

_How did you know?_

_It’s written all over you._

Lilith stood waiting for him outside a bar that looked to be just about the straightest place Roger had been to in the past year. She was beautiful, dressed in all black with red claws that pulled him in without any issue, leaving bruises where nobody could see; probably where Roger could not see either. 

Only ten minutes in, and Roger had her doubling over the table, laughing her heart out as if they had known each other for years. Hearty and generous, she paid for both of their drinks before settling at his side, pulling off a story of her own messy beginnings. She was older than him by a few years, it turned out, experienced and seemingly seeing right through Roger’s little act. It became clearer the more they talked, laughed, and drank together, how much she had seen through him right at the start.

When her hand wrapped around the roots of his hair, pulling as they headed out after a few hours, it cleared in Roger’s mind and he knew exactly what was to be expected of him. Fingers slipping, brushing past his roots, Roger simply had to look away, willing himself not to think of the way his once so smooth, pretty hair had started to feel like hay.

“My hair looks like shit,” Roger said, stumbling over his words and seeking support in her strong gaze.

Lilith smiled. Gentle and sweet, eyes glistening. “I like it. Makes you look pretty.”

Roger turned his eyes towards the night sky, teeth on full display. “Thanks, I guess.”

For a moment, she turned away, eyes scanning the near-empty street before her hand found Roger’s, eyes naughty and grip strong. “Come with me.”

“What -”

There was no time to ask her before she had him in his hold, forcing him with her on whatever adventure she had planned for the night. She shushed him, and he complied, smiling in bewilderment when she sneaked her way behind the bar of another pub, bottom shelf whiskey in her hand. She only had to check twice for the bartender, finding him deep in conversation with somebody by the other side, and the patrons seemed all too inebriated to care for what a random girl was doing behind the bar.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Lilith giggled, dragging Roger with her until they were on their own in the cold night air, bottle of stolen whiskey with them. The buildings blurred in the corners of his eyes as they ran together, stopping only to laugh once in a while. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Roger wheezed, lungs not used to the strain.

She hummed, lips in a comfortable smile as she pulled him in after taking a swig of whiskey. The taste was on her tongue, sharp and strong, dizzying him in the way only such a harsh grip on the back of his head possibly could. It was so simple, suddenly, when she dragged him past the streets and to a park where they sat on the cold, wet grass together, oversharing without a care for its bitter aftertaste. 

Perhaps that was just the whiskey.

“So, hear me out,” Lilith said between kisses and laughs. “A business based entirely off of this kind of theft, but like, no, listen to me, Roger!”

Gone in a fit of laughter, falling off to his side, Roger had lost perception of time, space, and whatever it was that Lilith was talking about. Grounded to the earth by her claws digging into his neck, he looked up, eyes watering with the strain, and sighed when his fit of laughter came to a halt. During the time he had been out of it, Lilith had lit a cigarette, smoking it slowly and looking at Roger as he was, messy and drunk and holding onto the earth through her and her only.

The eyes that met him were so dark then. Sparkling as if they hid every star in the universe, but they never belonged to her. It stung, painfully so, when he looked at her and all he felt was homesickness.

“So,” he said, shaking off the thoughts that plagued him in the cold. “Are we going to stay here all night?”

She hummed before putting out the cigarette in the grass and climbing over to him. “Sounds quite nice, doesn’t it?”

“Right here?” Roger said, helping her onto his lap where she straddled him. His hands drifted lower until they were set on the small of her back, massaging her soft skin, gently and patiently, until she dared to kiss him. Roger, with all his might, tried to keep his eyes open to see the dark colour of her hair and the nails which almost looked to be painted black when they graced his cheeks.

Pulling away from him, she smirked. “I never gave you any promises.”

With a grunt, Roger’s grip tightened around her before he bit down on her lip, met not with a yelp of pain but rather a laugh of pity. “Come on, my flat’s only ten minutes away.”

“How about next weekend?” she retorted, giving him the most chaste neck kisses between her words.

“Okay then.”

Within minutes, they were under the lights of the underground station, laughter dying down with every step they took together. Roger was tired, exhausted even, as if he had never experienced nights ten times more exhausting than this one.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Roger said. “I’ve got a gig on Friday.” Lilith looked up at him through thick, clumpy lashes. Her eyes still had that same dark look, and the mysteries they hid kept Roger on his toes. “You should come.”

“I’d love to,” she said immediately. “Just text me the time and location, I’ll be there.”

_You’re better behind the drums, darling._

Roger woke up with a pounding headache, surely a result of him, always so impulsively, consuming copious amounts of cheap, stolen whiskey. He must have forgotten to brush his teeth after getting home. He must have forgotten to have a glass of water. Sitting up, he brushed his hair back from his face, only to be disappointed by the feeling of his fucking pathetic excuse for a haircut. For years, he had been careful to always look his best, but he had been slipping from his own grip.

“How was last night?” Freddie was smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table. 

A dark, tense feeling gathered in his stomach, but all it did was send pulses of vibrations through his body. All he felt was his heartbeat in his entire body, and the tugging at his mouth that forced his face into a smile. Roger sat down at the table, only managing to look at Freddie’s dark eyes for a minute before he put his head in his hands.

“It was great, actually. I really like her.”

Whereas Roger was unable to stop his own smile, Freddie seemed to be forcing his. “Oh, that’s good.” 

Nodding, Roger looked down at the table. Freddie had fished his phone out of his pocket, typing away and pointedly ignoring Roger as he sat there, twirling his thumbs with a growing sense of guilt, rapidly replacing the vibrations within him. Perhaps it was a distraction, perhaps it was out of sheer habit, Roger began examining the ends of his hair under the fluorescent kitchen light, finding more split ones than healthy ones. Was it the hairspray? The straightener?

“Hey, Fred?” Roger said, and only got a hum in response from Freddie, who still looked down at his phone with great focus. “Should I cut my hair short?”

That caught Freddie’s attention, and he looked up for a second or two, huffing at what seemed to be a completely ludicrous statement. “Come on, I don’t want to be the only one with long hair. And you love your hair, darling.” 

Roger hummed, returning to playing with his split ends, while Freddie returned to his phone, eyebrows furrowing in concentration and lip between his teeth. Was it maybe the excessive washing? He really should stop washing it so much. Freddie told him at some point that it dries the hair out. It was hard, however, when even the slightest bit of grease made him obsess at the mirror.

“Yes!” Freddie exclaimed, pulling Roger out of his split end-induced trance. “Tim’s coming to your gig!”

Roger blinked. “My gig?”

“Yes, your gig on Friday.”

Roger opened his mouth to speak but Freddie beat him to it.

“Me and Brian talked about it. Their band needs a drummer, remember?”

“What band?”

Now, it was Freddie’s turn to blink in the silence. “Their band. Smile. You’re a drummer. Were you too busy sucking his face off to even ask what he does for a living?”

Roger shook his head. “Fuck’s sake, Freddie, I didn’t hear shit about this.” He paused before he carried on speaking, thinking seriously about the situation his wonderful best friend had gotten him into. “How is them seeing me playing the guitar going to help them see if I’m a good drummer?”

“They’ll see your musicality, darling!” Freddie said, as if it was the most obvious thing. While he loved Freddie, sometimes his unending enthusiasm was overwhelming.

“I haven’t drummed in over a year, Fred. Genius.”

Freddie sighed. “Well, they’ll be there, either way. Just pull out some maracas or something. Show off a bit!”

“I blame you for any awkwardness,” Roger said, pointing an accusatory finger in Freddie’s direction. “I asked Lilith to come as well.”

Freddie huffed. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them allowed any silences in the room. Freddie hated them more than anything, and more often than not preferred filling the room with pointless noise than let the silence linger.

“We should open the stall. Sunday shoppers and whatnot.”

_I’ve never met somebody with eyes like yours, Freddie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment to save a starving man (me) xoxo


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